Sing, Sing A Song…

I was cooking dinner earlier today, and heard a sound coming from my son’s room that compelled me to tip-toe into his doorway to listen. He was on his computer, playing a battle game. The game’s sword clangs and death cries were expected; it was my son’s own personal instrumental addition that drew me in.

As he played, he hummed an intense, driving bit of music that added to the intensity of the game. Like a movie soundtrack, the notes grew more frantic and high-pitched as the game’s pressure ramped up.

Ah, so it continues.

Music. It may be a genetic quirk. or maybe everyone shares this trait. In my family, however, we either listen to music, or  in the absence of any, create our own.

All.The.Time.

My grandfather was known for it- the act of bursting out into song at random moments.  He’d add his own percussion as well by tapping his fingers on any available surface. Whenever, wherever. No, really.

Scene: My father’s funeral. OBVIOUSLY a somber affair. My grandfather, sitting in a chair, facing the casket. Head burrowed, solemn and quiet. Then… a burst of song:

“Oh, Sierra SUE!… (hum, humhum… finger taps..)

TO no one, and FOR no one but himself. A little unusual. I could also elaborate on how he then pinched the ass of my mother’s friend at said funeral, but hey- that’s a story for another time…

Anyway, music. We’ve inherited this gift of music from my dad’s side of the family. My father was a very talented musician who was also known to sing/hum/tap as the mood hit him. He’d drum along to music in the car. He’d drum so enthusiastically that he cracked his car’s dashboard. Twice.

 

I, too, have apparently inherited this quirk. I loooove music. Classic rock is my genre: Led Zeppelin, The Beatles, The Stones, Queen, Aerosmith, etc. When I’m in the throes of a really great song, I WILL sing along. I WILL dance. I WILL air guitar. And I WILL listen to 80’s music. Deal with it.

And please don’t talk to me during the bridge of a great song. You’re killing it for me.

But in the absence of any music, I too will make my own. And I don’t mean singing aloud actual songs, although that can happen. I’m talking morphing into a human beatbox, with all sorts of hummed chords, drum riffs, and lip buzzes. I live my life day to day creating my own personal soundtrack. For fun, mind you. Not in a Tourette’s, annoying-to-be-around-me sort of way. At least, not yet.

Listening to #3’s battle chatter today reminded me of being in the car a few days ago with #4, who had been picked up following her second day of preschool. As we drove, #4 began singing. I was listening to my own music up front, b/c like my father told me,

“When you grow up & get your own car, you can listen to whatever music you want.”

(Damn straight, Dad! I have arrived! 80’s on 8, whenever.I.want!!)

I complimented #4 on her singing, because it WAS cute. And she said to me, in her exquisitely cute toddler voice, “Now you don’t have to listen to the radio, because I can sing for you!”

Oh, Snap.

But I did turn the radio off, because I’m a good mom, and am over “Blurred Lines” anyway.

And then I had that moment. I realized that she was singing not just because she wanted attention. She was singing because she was happy. All of the anxiety over starting preschool has melted away after a very successful week, and her soul felt light and happy.

And I thought of myself, and when I make my music. Granted, it’s usually in the throes of a heady, delicious caffeine rush. But it’s when I’m feeling good, at peace and in the moment with whatever I may be doing. I suppose it’s an obvious notion, right? I mean, of course people don’t sing when they’re angry or disturbed, unless they’re insane. Can you imagine what it would be like to be chased by a lunatic wielding an axe while shouting the chorus of Bohemian Rhapsody to you? Terrifying.

(That image will stick with you the next time you hear it. You’re welcome.)

I’ve noticed in the past few days that singing is the way that my children express their happiness, or sense of peace. #1 is in that hairbrush-microphone-in mirror stage anyway, which, quite frankly, is hilarious. #2 loves to drum on anything and everything, which, quite frankly, is LOUD. And #s 4 and 5 will hum and giggle as their Little People play (Until one steals a person. Then the singing stops, and opera-like shrieks begin).

Ditto for #3. I stood in his doorway as he played his battle game, listening to his little voice climb to a crescendo as the swords swung and his hand jerked the mouse about. It made my heart smile that he was in the groove- loving life, his game, having a fun, solitary moment that made him happy.

It made me feel that, as a mom, I’m doing something right. The kids have music in their hearts- they are enjoying their childhood- and it’s precious. And I was quiet, not wanting to interrupt his fun.

Until I grabbed my iPhone and filmed it. I filmed his cute little song, then filmed myself creeping up on him and popping him unexpectedly  with six pairs of socks drilled rapid-fire at the back of his cute little head. Bombs away!

“I see the silhouetto of a man…

Scaramouche, scaramouche, will you do the Fandango?”

 

 

 

 

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